A LiveIn One
by ThatClutzsarahh
Summary: Moriarty gets himself a pet, and all things chaotic ensues.


**Story: A Liv-in One**

**Thatclutzsarahh**

**Warnings: **M/Nc-17 for well, smut, language, violence, gore, etc etc, It's Moriarty, what'd you expect?

**Disclaimer:** I own only the typos.

**Note: **After days and days of debating whether or not to post it. And decided that I would. There's nothing to lose. So hold out with me, there will be sherlock and John and Lestrade and all thing Moriarty and hilarious. I promise it's good. I had fun writing, so i hope you'll have fun reading this.

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><p>Andre Dolohomov is a big, scary, brawny Russian man that James Moriarty knew he could pull strings with. While Dolohomov was all muscle and strength, and could, without a doubt bring down Moriarty with a single fist, Moriarty had his strings wrapped tightly around the man's throat and should he find the need to pull, just a little too tight, the man might just stop breathing. Just <em>maybe<em> though. His neck is rather thick.

So it was with a silent surprised that he'd agreed to meet Andre Dolohomov in his Scottish vacation home north of Greenwich Village. The man never asked for anything, avoiding the consulting criminal until Moriarty might have use of his...skills and connections to the underworld and mob of the cold country of Russia. Dolohomov is a power player, and an excellent ally to Moriarty and his spidery web of crime. And Moriarty felt very welcome at the large estate that loomed over his silent black car-a gift from a former client.

Dolohomov had a power complex, which intrigued Moriarty to know end. As he climbed from the car, Moriarty couldn't help but silently awe at the mansion before him. Stone and cold, with large gargoyle statues stationed at each corner of each jutting window, thick steps with curled edges and heavy ironed windows greeted the criminal masterminds eyes as he stepped up and out of the vehicle. Instantly, he was greeted by a man made of brawn and no brain, here to escort him to the room in which Mr. Dolohomov had set up for them today.

On his way up the steps, Moriarty idling thought about the things Dolohomov could possibly want with him. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps it was his day to die, but he doubted that brawny man such as Dolohomov would go through all these sophisticated channels to simply off Moriarty. He isn't that smart. Which meant he could only want something from him-

"Good Morning Moriarty," came the thick low drawl of the Russian man. His back was too Moriarty as he entered the sitting room, large and spacious and reeking of the wealth of a mobster. Dolohomov's stature was hidden underneath the stretch of an XXL button up black shirt, tucked neatly into a trim pair of pants, clearly high quality. Moriarty gave the man a wicked grin.

"What drags me here," he said in a bored tone, "Dolohomov."

"Sit," he commanded, and Moriarty did so, lolling his head to the side as if Dolohomov's goons bored him. Which, in fact, they did so, so it wasn't really a waste of a gesture. Dolohomov dismissed them with a brooding glance, leaving Moriarty and him alone in the room.

"Well," Moriarty stated, "You must have a good reason to bring me up here so early."

"My daughter," Dolohmov started, and Moriarty groaned inwardly. His daughter. The last thin Moriarty needed was to deal with a female, let alone the female daughter of Dolohomov. "Is in need or protection."

"From?" Moriarty said, ears perked up in a bit of interest. Protection. Dolohomov could not protect his daughter himself? Either it is from his own crew, or perhaps maybe someone a bit of a challenge for Moriarty himself.

"Men Moriarty," Dolohomov growled, "Men are the problem."

"I can't really help you there," Moriarty sing-songed to him, tapping his fingers against the chair. Really, what was he doing here?

"My daughter," He continued, "Is the object of some very, unhappy groups of people. Twice within the last two months have there been attempts on her life. From men she has dated. It brings the total up to 12. What you can help me with, Moriarty, is that I've heard you're in search of a _flatmate_-"

Moriarty turned his head back to listen. A pet. Like Sherlock. Live-In one. Entertainment. Something to play with should he be _bored_. Moriarty liked the sound of that.

"You want me to share a flat with your daughter, in exchange for _what?_" Moriarty asked. He was already certain he'd agree to it, but he wanted to know, what benefits him?

"A favor," Dolohomov ground out. Moriarty's eyebrows shot up to his hair line. A favor? Dolohomov rarely owed _favors_. This man, head of the Russian mob, owed no one anything, _ever_.

"Why?" Moriarty said, "Can she not defend herself? Can't you have a goon take care of her."

Dolohomov's lip curled into a devious smirk and he chuckled softly under his breath.

"She's a bit eccentric," he said with a grin, "Will you help me or not?"

Moriarty turned over his hand, as if he were mulling over the idea. "So," he started, starting at the lines in his fingers, "You want me to play boyfriend for your daughter, in exchange for a _favor_? Must be a pretty _big _favor," he sang out, eyes going wide at his fingers.

Dolohomov sighed, "You know Moriarty," he growled, "I'll owe you now, instead of you owing me. As you say, scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Would you like me to pay you as well?"

"No, no," Moriarty said, standing, "This is payment enough, watching you squirm, asking _me_ for a favor."

"I'm sure," Dolohomov said darkly. "So you will you or not?"

"I shall," Moriarty said, "I assume you have a London flat, seeing as I am not going to live here."

Dolohomov chuckled darkly and toyed with a tumbler glass on his desk. "Of course," he said, "Would you like to meet her?"

"I'll be doing that sooner or later," Moriarty mused as he traced the wood. Dolohomov chuckled and rasped his knuckles on the wooden desk. The doors opened behind him and Moriarty turned his head lazily to see two men waiting for him.

"Until we meet again, Moriarty," He said with the incline of his head. Moriarty gave him a sly grin.

"I'll keep in touch, let you know how your little...princess is," he said with a smooth tone. He grinned darkly again before heading for the door, a swagger in his step. He could feel the daggers of Dolohomov's eyes on his back as they left, clearly understanding his implication.

The goons led Moriarty clear across the manor, down a flight of stairs he'd never seen before, allowing him to take in the full power of the Dolohomov kingdom he'd built. Moriarty smiled knowingly at the fact that now, the most powerful underworld man in Russia was in his pocket. And all for the trading of the protection of a small weak girl.

What Moriarty knew of women could fit in a box, tucked underneath his bed in the form of magazines. Sure he'd dated, many a wonderful woman, he'd dealt with professionals, Irene Adler and others, but women weren't really his speciality. Waste of time, really. But this deal was just too much to pass up. Give the girl something to do, knitting, a T.V., wine and dine her, maybe a little sex here or there, she'd be under control. And he'd get a pet himself. Oh the wonderful things Moriarty could do. He grinned as they stopped at the double doors of a large room.

Moriarty wasn't sure what he saw first. As the doors opened, an arrow zoomed by his face, landing dead center in the face of the man's painting hanging opposite the hall. Moriarty turned his face casually, inspecting the steel tipped _arrow_ with pink feather implanted in the wall, before turning back to the girl who'd shot it.

She was tall and thin, _rail_ thin, as if she never was fed enough. Her hair was knotted atop her head and she stood in short shorts and a t-shirt, pointing a bow angrily at the intruders.

"You've messed my shot!" she shouted angrily in perfect English, "What do you think you're doing!"

The two goons that had brought him here looked at each other, unable to give an explanation. She however, was not about to wait for an explanation and marched right past them all, retrieving the pink tipped arrow from the painting.

"Come in or stay out," she demanded, "I need the door for target practice."

The goons stepped inside behind her, and Moriarty, rather quiet, stepped in as well. She shut the door with a dramatic slam and went back to her bow.

"So," she said without looking up as she strong the arrow into the strings, "You must be Moriarty."

She strung out the bow and took aim, just as Moriarty smiled.

"Jim Moriarty," he said as she steadied herself, "Hi."

The arrow hit the door as his greeting ended, and she looked at him with narrowed honey eyes, placing down the bow and striding over to him. He found himself stiff and cool, as if he were dealing with a client as she inspected him. Her face was very much like her fathers, only feminine and narrow. Her chin was thin and her collarbones stuck out at the base of her neck. Her hair was obviously unbrushed and it was clear she was not expecting guests.

"So I'm to live with you," she stated as she turned away from Moriarty and toward the door. Moriarty grinned at her retreating figure.

"Hi _roomie_," he sung out deviously. "What's you're name, _princess?_"

She swung around with the arrow in hand, still ignoring him as she went back to her bow. "Anya," she said as she picked up the bow. Her eyes met his with a darkened challenge. "Anya Dolohomov," she said, and then tacked on, "Princess."

"So sassy," Moriarty countered with a grin, "You'll make such a great _girlfriend_."

Moriarty could already tell he'd not be bored living with her. Anya snorted at his words as she swung up the bow and took aim. She looked over at him.

"You're my boyfriend," she said with the tilt of her head, "But just so you know, if you lay a hand on me, you're dead."

She let the arrow fly. It was a dead on bulls eye.

Oh the fun Moriarty will have. Moriarty couldn't wait, what fun he will have.

"Whatever you say, _princess_."

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><p><em>okay, gentle now. What do you think? like it or not? what were your favorite parts?<em>


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